


Comfort, Bread, and Other Small Joys

by ThatWriterKid



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety/Comfort, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWriterKid/pseuds/ThatWriterKid
Summary: Crowley convinces Aziraphale to close the shop for the day.Aziraphale bakes bread.The boys go on a walk.Part of a collection of Tumblr scribbles. Three ficlets written after a call for prompts on a bad day. All fluffy, all endearing.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Tumblr Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661779
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. Closing the Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post: I need stupid happy shit in my life right now, so send me your fluffiest Good Omens prompts and I’ll write you a scene.
> 
> Prompts given: Im trying to come up with the fluffiest thing I can imagine… Aziraphale closing his shop for cuddles? (He doesn’t mind at all of course) Baking ? Just taking a nice stall in a sunny park? Presents? - @laellia on Tumblr
> 
> Anyway, three responses, three incredibly short chapters.

It started during inventory. He was just going through a recently-purchased box from an estate sale, minding his own business, when a pair of sunglasses dropped on the book in front of him. Aziraphale glanced up.

“I have _work_ to do.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do,” said Aziraphale, and nudged the sunglasses aside.

Then: dusting the shelves. Aziraphale turned around to get the bookcase behind him and found himself face-to-face with a terribly cunning demon. It shouldn’t have been possible to lean and sprawl at the same time, but there he was, taking up space just the same as if he were occupying the couch in the back room.

“Angel, what am I supposed to _do_ while you’re futzing around here?”

“Pick up a duster.”

Aziraphale dusted alone. 

An hour or so passed. An attempted purchase was going steadily south: the customer was not taking no for an answer. Aziraphale had worked his way through subtly raising the price, had exhausted his reservoir of disapproving stares, was running low on cutting personal remarks, and was strongly considering _tutting_ when Crowley sauntered up.

“Bugger off,” said Crowley, who’d noticed something Aziraphale hadn’t. 

“Excuse me?” the customer asked, “We’re in the middle of–”

“Angel, he’s flirting with you.”

There was a whirlwind of furious denials. The customer insisted he wasn’t flirting–the angel insisted he needed to leave _immediately_ –the demon couldn’t stop giggling. Aziraphale slammed the door in the customer’s face.

“Are you _happy_?”

“Yes.” Crowley took his waist and pulled. Just a little. Just enough to give Aziraphale an excuse to give in, to lean forward and relax into Crowley’s arms. “Come on. Usually I’m the anxious one. Close up.”

Aziraphale inhaled. Crowley always smelled like expensive cologne with an inexplicable aftertouch of New Car Smell–like he’d ever had a car other than the Bentley–but beneath that, there was _Crowley_ , warm like brimstone and the stuff of stars. Suddenly Aziraphale felt the weight that had settled into his shoulders, and wasn’t it funny, how easily they could detect that weight in each other, but to know it in oneself…

He needed a warm bed. A shoulder to tuck into. He needed that quite desperately.

“Just let me lock the door.”


	2. Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale VS dough.

“What exactly was it supposed to be, Aziraphale?”

“Bread.”

“It doesn’t look like bread.”

“It does not.”

“You know, there’s a great new patisserie in Mayfair. If you’re interested.”

A stiff but urgent nod. “I think that’s best.”


	3. A Walk in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presents and good company.

It was one of the first warm days of spring. Of true spring, at least. False spring had fooled them with a vengeance in February: six thousand years and they fell for it every time. Aziraphale had insisted it was time to open the windows and air out the cottage, and Crowley had gone out to clear the garden, and then on the first of March there had been an inch of snow.

Not anymore. It had melted now. 

Aziraphale took his arm without permission. Crowley laughed. They’d come out with scarves and hats, expecting the worst, and then the sun had come out. Crowley’s scarf lay loose around his shoulders; Aziraphale’s gloves had been resigned to his pockets. There was something liberating in the messiness, the ease of it all. They bought each other ice cream, wandered along the water. They spoke about nothing of importance, all afternoon. They walked together, quietly and freely and _perfectly_ affectionate.

When they ran out of excuses–they always did, eventually–Crowley slipped an arm around the angel and suggested dinner.

His treat. 


End file.
